Gravekeeper
by Strangershadow
Summary: The aftermath of the war left devastation in it's wake, but comfort can be found in the strangest of places. How odd- Draco thinks- to have been torn away from the Wizarding world, only to meet her here. A strange little love story. [Dramione]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Long time no see, everybody! :D**

 **I am here with a two-shot.** **This one is a little (okay, VERY MUCH) longer than normal. It's an entire, proper story in itself, but I felt it better to post it in two parts, rather than dividing it into a multi-chapter fic, because that would break the flow too much.**

 **It's a bit slow towards the start, so give it a chance ^^ I hope you like! :)**

 **Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

 **Grave Keeper**

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 _As these waves crash against the highway cliffs,_

 _I'm so scared they'll flood me where I sit,_

 _Well, the roads, they change to waterways,_

 _They never carry home_

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Draco really fucking _hates_ rain, not to mention that depressing, haunting aura that seems to surround the cemetery every time monsoon comes around. Teeth gritted, his fingers dig painfully into the shovel in his grip as he leans forward, ploughing the shovel into the mud with all his strength.

He must really be mental if he prefers the presence of dead people as opposed to live ones.

Wiping away soaked blonde locks from his eyes as the rain crashes down all around him, he doesn't even cringe at the squelch of mud under his shoes, staining the edges of his navy blue coveralls.

Oh, how things have changed. If it had been a year ago, he would've thrown a hissy fit over getting dirty. And now, he practically digs up mud for a living.

Digs up _graves_ , to be exact.

"Fucking graveyard."

It's cold and he's sweating profusely, and his baggy clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin as the rain crashes down.

He stands back to regard his work. A perfect rectangular grave is around him- with him standing right in the centre, muddy water up to his waist as the rain fills it with fervour. He can see the faint glimmer of moonlight shimmering in the water in the midst of the heavy downpour.

"Great." he mutters under his breath, "I don't even know why I bother." The embers of his previous anger have rushed away, leaving behind a cooling numbness in his head that never fails to feel absolutely fantastic.

Maybe that's why he does it.

Grabbing the edges of the squelching soil of the pit, he hauls himself up, not aware of the presence of someone else- of the sounds of footsteps making their way towards him in the foggy wisps of rain. Taking a deep breath, he watches as the grave he has spent an hour digging is flooded with dirty, soapy water and rocks within a minute.

But that's okay. He wasn't doing it because a dead body had been assigned to arrive. He'd done it because it has never failed to make him feel better about the dull, calm chaos that his life has become- and now as he shrugs off his soaking shoes, panting and shivering from the bitter cold that envelops him, he feels his frustration ebb away.

And _that's_ when he finally catches the sound of footsteps sloshing in the muddy pool on the ground and whips around, only to have a blinding white light hit him directly in the eyes.

 _Letting_ out a loud curse, he shelters his eyes, and is able to make out the silhouette of a woman standing there, against the shadows. " _Who_ the _fuck_ -?!"

" _Malfoy_?!"- the voice that gasps back is hauntingly familiar.

Squinting against the piercing light and the shower of water droplets raining down on him, he grits his teeth.

"Merlin's sake, lower your wand, Granger!" he yells over the racket the rain is making "We're in the Muggle world, and I'd like to have my vision intact."

The source of light is immediately re-directed and Malfoy blinks, purple lights dancing before his eyes as they hazily settle on the woman standing in front of him.

It really is her.

 _Hermione Granger._

Her bushy hair are sticking to her in dripping dark strands, and her soaked robes cling to her body, accentuating soft curves. Judging by her composure, Granger is very much alert- her wand hand outstretched, ready to be wielded if need be, but she's staring at him in bewilderment.

"Well, who would've thought there'd be a time when the Muggle would see the Pureblood covered in mud." he calls out, faintly unsure if his remark is insulting or complimentary.

She hasn't really changed much. Grown an inch or two taller, filled out her figure. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks refined- even under the cascade of rain with water dripping past her lips. She opens her mouth once again in disbelief. " _Malfoy_ …"

He brushes sopping locks of blonde hair out of his eyes "Well, I can see cavorting with Weasley has impacted heavily on your intelligence. If you'll excuse me, I have-"

"What- what are you doing here?" her eyes dart around as thunder roars overhead, raindrops splattering on the greyish pallor of graves around them "This is a Muggle cemetery!"

"Ten points to Gryffindor."

Her lips purse against the harsh rain that courses over them, bright eyes narrowing at him. "I swear to _God_ , Malfoy, if you're upto something funny here…"

He rolls his eyes "Look around, Granger. This is a graveyard. I'm sure the only people I can mess around with here don't have a pulse and sure as hell don't give a damn about-"

"I'm _serious_ -" her voice is firm, stoic. Chillingly cold, like it had always been when she regarded him. Something heavy drops in his chest. "If you think that digging up graves and hiding dead bodies is a funny way of getting back at Muggles, or- or whatever this is- then I'm _disgusted_ -"

"Oh, save it." he snaps, anger coursing through his veins "I have better things to do that go around digging up fucking dead bodies."

Well, technically he doesn't. But _she_ doesn't need to know that.

"Then what are you doing here?" she glares.

This- _this_ is why he's always hated her- more than because of Pureblood ideals, more than because of her annoying know-it-all qualities or her tendency to always be able to outwit him. More than anything, it's this- how she seems to give everyone a chance except _him_. How her eyes turn imminently cold when they focus on Draco.

 _This_ is why.

"I'm not answerable to you." He spits back. He can't feel the cold anymore. The rain around him seems to barely help, blowing and whistling by in deafening roars. Lightning strikes somewhere nearby.

"As an Auror, I have full rights to question you. And with you being on exile-"

"They have a Trace on me thanks to that, Granger." He snarls. "And you have no right over me. I'm doing nothing wrong, so unless you can prove otherwise, get the fuck off this property. What the hell are you doing here at this time anyway?"

She glares, pushing soppy strands of dark, curly hair out of fiery brown eyes, and her skin is somehow shining- eyes glittering so painfully bright in the dark fresh mildew of the background that Draco feels an aching tug at his chest.

"I'm not answerable to you either." she says defiantly.

He arches a brow "You'll find yourself terribly wrong." he stands as high as he can "You see, Granger, _I_ manage this cemetery."

Granger blinks, shocked, and Draco savours the expression on her face, even though he knows that there really is nothing to gloat about. Merlin's sake, all he's really done is tell her he works at a stupid graveyard.

"You…what?"

"That's right. I work here." he repeats "So I'd like to know what you're doing here at nearly midnight in the middle of a storm."

Her eyes snap up to meet his. She still looks entirely too shocked to be able to say anything, but when she notices his glare, her lips thin into a scowl.

"Never mind." she forces, teeth gritted "I'll be back when you're not there."

He laughs. That's not possible. He's always there.

He watches her spin around and stalk away and releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, the agitation still fresh in his chest. His clothes are soaking, sticking to his chest, rivulets of water chilling as they stream down the contours of his muscles, but he barely feels anything.

Turning around only to find the grave he'd dug up flooded with muddy rainwater, he sighs and walks to the shed, grabbing a bucket and beginning the hour long process of emptying it out.

By the time he's done, there's rainwater in his eyes, his anger is gone, replaced by bone-cracking exhaustion and the sound of the rain beating against his body, as he slowly makes his way back to his cottage.

Flitting through the damp grass, Draco's eyes catch the faint hint of smoke rising in the air, and the glow of a cigarette. He groans.

" _Really_?!" he calls out "How many times have I told you not to smoke near my place, Harold?"

The scruffy, square-jawed man cooped up against Draco's front door, safely under the protection of his porch, grunts and takes a long drag from his cigarette "It's my ruddy cemetery too. Ge' used to it."

Draco looks at the man and shakes his head. He wishes maybe he wouldn't care, but ever since the war; there have only been a handful of people he's acquainted himself with- and oddly, he's made a point to care about each and every one of them. It's probably not that hard, since Harold and Amelia are really the only ones on that list.

Well, the only live ones anyway.

Draco's mind goes back to Granger and he scowls. He still doesn't understand why he's so bothered by it all- but there's a certain apprehension at the back of his mind that maybe Granger might tell everyone about where he is. He has more or less come to terms with his past and his present, but not so much that he will willingly let himself be made fun of by Granger and her two minions.

"Ya look stressed." Harold is gently blowing a puff of smoke in the humid air "More than usual."

Draco sits down next to him "I…met a classmate back from school."

"Lemme guess- he wasn't exactly impressed by your current job?"

" _She_ , actually. And no- I could care less about what my classmates think of me." Probably because he's been called worse, and done worse "I used to bully her in school. It was not exactly a welcome reunion."

Harold lets out a bark of laughter. "A girl, eh? Used to pull her pigtails?! Call her ugly?!" Harold wiggles his eyebrows.

Draco gives him a dirty look "She would be so lucky if she ever managed to get those mane of her hair into pigtails. And she _was_ ugly."

 _No, she wasn't. She never was. Liar._

The glint in Harold's brilliant blue eyes is all too knowing as he grins, one gold tooth in the corner of his mouth shining "And how's she look now?"

Draco's insides clench as his mind travels back to Granger at the cemetery earlier. She'd had her wand pointed at Draco, and her eyes had been bright- flashing brilliantly- and the rainwater gushing all around them had turned the soft angles of her face painfully harsh and attractive, the line of her lips a sharp, precise cut.

Wet and dangerous was definitely a very good look on her.

Draco folds his arms on top his knees and buries his face in them "Not that bad." His voice is muffled.

When Harold offers the cigarette to him, Draco glowers "I'm not smoking."

"Aah, come on, kid! You're one step away from being a depressed, lovelorn cliche! One drag won't hurt!"

"No, and I am not lovelorn! And you need to quit."

Draco has known Harold ever since he started working at the cemetery. The old man is the other gravekeeper, but unlike Draco, his liking for digging graves and spending time planting flowers on gravestones is considerably limited. Draco can't really blame him.

Draco has never really questioned Harold about anything. He likes the man for who he is- careless, indifferent and witty- with his occasional moments of philosophical advices. He's never uttered a single word, or inquired Draco about his life, and it's a change Draco welcomes.

"I got nobody to stop it for." Harold answers, sitting back and watching the rain. Draco can feel the wet and chilling discomfort of his sticky- soaking clothes, but says nothing "My wife's dead, my daughter's married and off and forgotten about 'er old man, and I work at a cemetery. And you wan' me to stop smoking." he laughs bitterly and takes a long puff.

Draco's lips thin.

"Smoking isn't going to make all of that go away." Draco refuses to feel sympathy for Harold, especially when he knows his life hasn't been any better. He isn't smoking, or drowning away his sorrows in alcohol.

 _No, you're just hiding in a cemetery and digging graves instead._

"When did I say it is?" Harold is saying, glancing sideways at Draco, amused. He claps him on the back "Remember one thing, boy, when you've lost everythin' you caredfor, you do whatever the fuck you like doin'. Get drunk and knock something out, wear coconut dresses and learn to play the banjo- it's too bloody pointless to put restraints on yourself when you've got nothing left for you without it."

Draco doesn't think he can say anything, partly because he doesn't know what the hell Harold is going on about. Maybe he's drunk again.

But mostly, because Draco has never really felt the urge to do anything that might ever allow him to put a restrain on it.

How do you restrain yourself from doing something you like, when you don't really have anything you like anymore anyway?

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Draco is tending to the grave of a certain _Susan Yewborn_ the next time Granger decides to pay a visit.

The sun is shining, glowing the cemetery up and the sunlight making the gravestone sparkle as Draco kneels down. The glaring afternoon is a nice change of scenery from the torrents of rain of the past few days, although Draco finds himself hopelessly missing the airy evenings that filled out the graveyard. Afternoons like these make the graveyard look hauntingly bright and cheerful, and it's just…wrong.

There's just something about the cemetery that soothes him. That flickering sense of satisfaction that he's in a place where people will not judge, where he can take care of them endlessly without anyone seeing, without anyone there to put his guard up in front of.

The grave of Susan Yewborn- however- is a little bit more personal than that. Draco knows Susan's daughter- Amelia. Such a tiny thing, with a bouncy blonde ponytail and an annoyingly evergreen smile. She comes to visit her mother's gravestone with her father every other week or so. She had personally and bravely walked up to Draco a few months back and demanded he plant lilies around her mother's grave, because 'my mum likes them lilies very much, sir'. She'd had that fierce glint in her eyes that assured him she could be a very dangerous ten-year old if need be.

If she had been a witch, there would've been no doubt she'd have been a Gryffindor.

Draco's eyes soften as his hands pet the soil around the lilies he's freshly planted there. A bright yellow one is swooping, bending over just above Susan's gravestone.

He shifts, when there is the familiar prickling sensation of someone watching him. He turns to find Granger standing a few feet away, watching his moves suspiciously.

"Can I help you with something, Granger?"

"You're…" her voice sounds painfully constricted, as if her confusion is physically hurting her "…You're planting lilies."

"You know, Granger, one of these days I'm going to present you the Great Observation Award."

She scowls, but says nothing. Grabbing his toolbox and the mug of water lying next to him, Draco gets up with a sigh and begins to walk away. He's half-way to the shed when her voice stops him dead in his tracks.

"Do you do that for every grave?"

He gestures his head to the side to indicate that yes, and he is indeed listening, but is waiting for her to get to the fucking point.

"Plant flowers, I mean?"

He turns, something fiercely protective washing over his chest. These are _his_ gravestones, _his_ people. This is his cemetery, and he damn well takes very good care of it, thank you very much!

"Look around. Does the variety of flowers give you any hint, Granger?" he says unpleasantly. She still has that uncertain expression on her face as her eyes dart around; and it's with a horrible aching feeling that Draco looks at her.

She looks healthy- pink flush to her cheeks, hair as bushy as always and those robes flowing down her body as gracelessly as ever. And yet, there's something just unconditionally beautiful about her.

She looks alive- like she has managed to live again after the War.

Of course she has, he thinks bitterly. With that ginger oaf, nonetheless.

He's jealous.

He's _so_ _jealous_.

"I was just asking, you know." she snaps "You don't have to get defensive every time I ask a simple-"

"I'll decide when I have to get defensive. And I _will_ get bloody defensive because whatever I'm doing here is none of your fucking-"

"I was just curious! Honestly, I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done to get you so angry all the time!"

His fists clench painfully.

He knows.

He knows _exactly_ what she's done.

Vivid images of his sixth year flash in the back of his mind and he thinks of that particular stupid _potion_ \- brewing there and looking all fucking _innocent_ when Slughorn had shown it to the class.

When Granger had blushed as she'd rambled on about what she could smell.

And Draco's utter _horror_ when he had caught a whiff of the potion and recognised whose scent _he_ could smell.

He looks back at Granger's frustrated face and glares "I don't care what you do, but leave me the hell alone. I think it's pretty obvious that what I'm doing here in the Muggle world is far from dangerous. Asking me about flowers and graves is not going to-"

"I didn't ask you because I was suspicious, for Christ's sake!" The brightness in her eyes make him pause, and Granger halts, taking a deep breath "I was going to ask you for a favour, but you just cannot help be an indignant prat!" her voice is sharp and strong and threateningly vicious- something that just seems to exclude the immense power he knows she's capable of. "It's not Hogwarts anymore, Malfoy."

"I think it's pretty obvious it's not Hogwarts." he gestures to the cemetery all around him "Honestly, Granger, you're getting really close to winning that award." Sneering, he shifts against the sodden mud, trying to look as authoritative as he can in his fading gravekeeper coveralls.

He finds these clothes oddly soothing too.

Fuck him, maybe he really has gone mad.

"So?" he asks "What can I do for the great Muggleborn?"

She blinks up at him "What?"

"The bloody _favour_ , Granger! Merlin, what has Weasley _done_ to your IQ level?!"

She glares at him through flushed cheeks, but says nothing, shuffling her feet. All of a sudden, she looks extremely bashful. Draco wonders what exactly this 'favour' is.

"Marigolds." she murmurs, and he has to strain his ears to listen to her.

"Marigolds what?"

"Marigolds, Malfoy." she's says, voice louder this time. "I'd appreciate it if you could plant them in the graves of..." she hesitates, and looks up to meet his eyes "-of..um…Monica and Wendell Wilkins."

Draco freezes.

 _Monica and Wendell Wilkins_.

Those are the names of the only two gravestones in the corner of the cemetery that remain isolated and unvisited. Nobody had turned up for their funeral, except for the neighbours and the priest. Draco remembers feeling disgusted at the couple's family for not even bothering to turn up, and then thinking that maybe they'd had no family.

"Friends of yours?" he asks cautiously.

Granger looks up at him, and her eyes cloud "Family, actually."

And there it is- that stab of disgust. He cannot believe it, but there it is.

Maybe the Golden Girl of Gryffindor has some skeletons of her own in her closet.

"Really now?" he asks, expression turning bitter "Very nice of you to turn up a year after their deaths, Granger."

"What-"

"You know, I would've never pegged you as the kind to forget family in the midst of accolades and fame." -and he truly means it, as he slowly begins to ascend towards her "-But it looks like I don't know you that much after all. All that Gryffindor _loyalty_ …"

"Malfoy, don't-" She looks dangerous, her hands fisting around her wand, but Draco feels too angry to care. He's not going to pass up this opportunity to give her a piece of his mind.

"...Clearly, I was wrong. I honestly thought _you_ were better than that, Granger." he continues to close in on her, not stopping until he's a breath away from her lips, loathing emanating from him.

And the heat pooling his insides at being in such close proximity with her, the sharp pang that clenches and twists into his chest when he looks directly in her eyes makes him hate her even more.

Her eyes are sharp- no longer their warm chocolate brown- no, they're piercingly bright and lethal, and he feels a great deal of satisfaction knowing he's the reason for it.

"Don't talk about things you don't know, Malfoy."

"Why not?" he sneers into her face "Not that open when it comes to your own secrets, are you? Weasley and Potter- I wouldn't even bother, but _you_ …? No, _you_ had brains, Granger. What happened to _you_?"

There's a swish and a flash, the tearing of robes and a sharp, bone-splitting pain in Draco's arms as he's violently thrown back.

Granger has her wand whipped out and pointed at him, shaking in barely-controlled fury. There's the warm, sticky recognition of blood as he clutches his arm, teeth gritted, looking up at her from where he is sprawled on the ground.

In that moment, as Granger looks down at him, she's terrifying.

He chuckles bitterly, clutching his stinging arm, "Hit a nerve there, did I? Honestly-"

"Their names were Philip and Wendy _Granger_." She spits at him.

Draco goes numb. Granger's voice is low. Threatening. In the aftermath of the slowly setting sun, her hair cloud over her eyes as she talks, nearing him. "-And they don't remember me because I Obliviated them during the War. I like to believe I did the right thing, and allowed them to live a happy life as much as they could…"

Draco shifts uncomfortably. He'd heard Monica and Wendell Wilkins had died in a car crash.

He eyes the heat emanating from Granger's stiff posture above him, the shadow over her eyes and for a minute, his heart melts and he allows the sobering guilt to burn into his chest, spitting and aching and hurting.

He's horrible, he knows.

"…So don't you _dare_ blame me." Granger's eyes are bright and she's shaking "If there is _anyone_ who would know what it feels like to be forced to do something in order to protect their family, I imagine it'd be _you_ , Malfoy."

He cringes.

Well, she definitely knows exactly what to say so that it hurts.

And with another swish of her robes, she's gone.

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"Marigolds?" Amelia is scrunching up her nose in disgust "You hate marigolds."

"I know." Draco huffs, opening his hands so that she can hand him the delicate flowers, wrapped up in a plastic full of soil. He's careful- he doesn't want to mess this up. "They smell f- very horrid."

Amelia giggles "I know what you were going to say, you know. Daddy uses that word when he gets angry at his clients." her brow furrows in confusion, as she looks at the marigolds in Draco's palms "-But you're still planting them."

"Yes. Yes, I am." Draco mutters, patting the soil and allowing Amelia to give it a motherly pat.

"Why?" she asks. Her long blonde hair swish past her and fall in front of her eyes as she gives the newly planted flower a tender look, and Draco finds himself grinning uncharacteristically.

He looks up at the two gravestones- _Monica and Wendell Wilkins_ \- and the marigolds that are bordering therm prettily.

"Their daughter wanted me to plant them." he replies, "Just like you."

Amelia's eyes widen as her gaze shifts to the gravestone "Oh! Does she come here often?! Maybe I can talk to her!"

"I suppose." Draco stands up, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment in his veins. He looks down at Amelia "Want to come over for tea?"

She nods wordlessly, and he leads the way, locking eyes with her father, who is kneeling before his wife's grave. He nods at him and Draco nods back. It feels nice to know that somebody trusts you with the most precious thing in their life. His hand comes down to protectively hover behind Amelia as she skips puddles.

Tea in the evening at Draco's cosy little place has become sort of a routine for him and Amelia. Draco had been taken by her feisty personality, and after a particularly bone-crunching hug, and several heartfelt days when he had just sat there next to the little girl, watching her sniff in front of her mother's grave and cuddle closer to his warmth- he has fiercely guarded Amelia ever since.

"This girl- the Marigold girl." Amelia is saying thoughtfully as they edge towards the corner of the land, where there is a light clearing and a small cottage hidden comfortably behind the bend of trees and leaves "How old is she? Can I come play with her sometime?"

Draco's lips twitches "I think she's too old for that. But I bet she'd like to talk to you." he smiles at Amelia, relishing the feeling of being completely unguarded "I supposed you can help her out"

She nods happily, skipping "I can. Just like you helped me."

Draco falters, and is hopelessly touched, when there's a squeal as Amelia jumps onto a particularly large puddle, spraying mud and water everywhere.

"Mia!" He spits out water, spluttering and watching her tiny form double over as she clutches her stomach and laughs at him.

It's been a while since he's seen someone laugh. He likes it.

Even more so when he's the reason for it.

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.

.

It's another month before Granger visits again, and Draco makes sure he's out of her way and doesn't intrude, tending to raking the leaves.

Autumn has arrived, filling the vast estate with shades of crisp orange and red, and he silently works. He wonders when he stopped caring about Granger watching him work at the cemetery. Maybe all the world's embarrassment he feels due to her watching can never quite match to up to the humiliation he faced back in the Wizarding World, and he's finally found it in himself to not give a fuck.

He's never known manual labour could be so satisfying. Especially when his insides are squirming. He's very much aware of the fact that Granger is currently present in front of her parent's grave, and that she's noticed the marigolds.

Panting and brushing platinum locks away from his eyes, he sets his sweep down, and surveys the place.

Not bad. Well tended to.

Satisfied, he begins to make his way towards the end where his cottage is. Making a cup of coffee and hiding in there until Granger leaves feels like a delightful option. It's not about the fact that he's scared of her, but rather that he's not really good with awkward confrontations. Not with her.

Feeling the breeze flow through his hair, he turns around, beginning to walk away.

"Malfoy."

Stopping in his tracks, he doesn't know how exactly to reply. So he turns with a painfully casual look.

"Granger."

She's flushed, and fidgeting with her robes, and Draco can't keep his eyes away.

Brilliantly stark against the reds and oranges all around them, Granger is wearing a soft dark blue T-shirt underneath a faded jean jacket, and tight black jeans- and he's long given in to his growing familiarity with Muggle clothes. Her hair is open- brown and short, brushing past her shoulders in waves. She looks smart and crisp and good. Definitely good.

"Thank you."

She sounds honest enough, so he nods and turns again, when-

"And…uhm…I'm sorry."

Blinking, he turns to face her again "…For what exactly?"

"For shouting." she squirms, biting her lower lip. He's always liked it when she did that, even back at Hogwarts "And…erm...hexing you."

Malfoy scowls. He remembers how long it took him to bandage that arm, because it wouldn't fucking stop bleeding. And of course, on account of being sent on exile, his wand and inheritance had been confiscated. So two fucking weeks of agonising pain really wasn't something he liked reminiscing over.

"That really wasn't very nice. What kind of a bloody hex was that, Granger?" He'd never seen anything like that before.

She shrugs "Nothing too dangerous. Just slows your blood from clotting."

" _Just_ -?!" he stares at her in disbelief "What the fuck, Granger, I could've bled to death!"

She rolls her eyes "Oh, don't be dramatic. It doesn't prevent it altogether, just slows down the process. It would've eventually healed. It just would be really painful. And er…messy."

He glares at her "And that sounds so pleasant, doesn't it?!"

Honestly, this woman is mad. Voldemort hadn't stood a chance. With her and her two mental friends, he was better off dead.

"You deserved it. Don't expect an apology for that. I just apologised for behaving rashly."

"You Gryffindors are known for that." he mutters "And I'm not asking for an apology."

She blinks at him in surprise. He supposed he's finally rendered her speechless. Ha!

"Okay…then…we're fine, aren't we?"

He wants to laugh. There is no ' _we_ '.

"Whatever you call this-" he gestures between her and him "- I assure you it couldn't have gone more peacefully."

"Okay. Good. Yes, and-" she nods "-thanks once again."

He nods back, and as he turns to return to that cup of coffee, he pauses, wondering if he should ask her to join him.

The urge to ask is there… _right there_ …

Maybe it's just the fact that he's been lonely for so long, he doesn't know, or maybe that this is the one chance he has- when he can feel his heart racing, the pain and the reality, and the burden of her gaze falling on his back.

"Hey Granger?"

She looks up, and he can feel that innocence in her eyes. The curiosity, the gentleness, the strength- and he doesn't really deserve her. She's too nice.

"Yes?"

"Don't hex me ever again."

She looks at him, confused, and he sets his lips in a thin line to make sure he doesn't look as unsettled as he feels.

"I won't." she replies "Don't give me a reason to."

He doesn't plan on.

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.

.

"Why don't you wear gloves?"

Draco grits his teeth. It's five in the evening, and the entire cemetery is covered with snow. Donning his usual grey overalls, brushing damp crusts of ice chips off his bare, red hands, Draco works silently. He can feel Granger behind him, peeking curiously over his shoulder. He's not wearing any sweater, just black hiking boots and a cap pulled over his ear.

"Your hands will thaw, you know."

He doesn't reply. He likes the cold. He doesn't mind.

"How will you feel then?" she rambles on "When you get frostbite, and your hands freeze and turn into sculptures and then break into pieces when you try to move them or hold something? Like plaster of paris?"

He cringes. "Remind me why you're here again?"

"Why are _you_ here?"

"Because I _work_ here, Granger."

"But _why_? You could've gotten any job." she looks around, and shudders "Frankly, it's a bit creepy, the amount of time you spend here among dead bodies."

"That's my business, and I don't mind."

There is silence, and Draco thinks about how much has changed over the past couple of weeks. Granger visits more often now, and is annoying every time.

But oddly endearing.

Well, sometimes.

"Okay…at least wear gloves."

"No, dammit! I like the cold and I'm fine the way it is!"

The snows melts, chipping and icing away in his numbing grip as he sighs, sniffing and trying to regain a sense of warmth within his body. He doesn't know why he likes the cold.

Maybe because it always manages to numb everything else. Manages to help him feel less. Less pain. Less lonely. Less guilty. Less everything.

"I can see that." she says, not in the least bit effected by his shouting, looking thoughtful. "Everything about you is cold actually. Your personality, your features, your eyes-"

He looks at her flatly. "Does this conversation have a point?"

"What I'm trying to say is that you need to get warm." Granger says teasingly, and castes a side-long glance at him, eyes knowing. And all of a sudden, he doesn't really feel cold anymore. He still can't get enough of that high he feels whenever he sees the familiarity and ease with which she is now beginning to regard him. She even smiles. Almost.

Sometimes.

"I don't. I'm fine being cold." he doesn't know what they're talking about anymore- the weather, or his personality. He doesn't really care.

"Fine. Be difficult."

"I'm not being difficult. I'm being exactly the way I should be," - and that is true, because in this universe, in this life, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger aren't supposed to be close. They aren't even supposed to be _civil_ to each other. Everything is supposed to be balanced. Even. Fair.

Draco can feel Granger's gaze on him, and he forces himself to continue working, relishing the slight crunch and crackle of ice chips and broken tree branches under his fingers as he works.

It's the grave of a Charles Wicklebrow- died too young, a soldier in a war. His ex-fiancé visits every month on the first Tuesday, and sits there and reads a chapter from a Muggle book- _A Christmas Carol-_ out loud to his stone. Draco has never asked, but has bought the book and is halfway through it himself. It's amazing the kinds of things you get to see in graveyards. Muggles- Draco realises- are strange in the way they express their grief.

"You're confusing, you know."

He blinks, brought back to the world by the honeyed gaze of Granger, who is looking at him with a calm expression.

"Excuse me?"

"You're confusing." she repeats "I mean- yes, you were sent on exile and your wand was taken away. But it doesn't mean you had to go get a job at a _cemetery_ -"

"How many times do I have to tell you that my job is not up for discussion, Granger-"

"No, I mean it!" she presses on "You take such good care of this place! As if it's your property. It's-"

"-Unhealthy. Creepy. Alarming," he rants on, feeling the pathetic shame and anger seep in again. What good is he, taking care of people, who are long gone? "Yes, I've been told-"

"I was going to say understandable." -her reply is so surprising Draco stares up to lock eyes with her, stunned.

 _Understandable_? Maybe she's mad as well.

"Unhealthy and creepy, yes, but understandable too. Most people wouldn't see the point of this, but I think I do." her gaze shifts thoughtfully to survey the entire estate. Draco thinks winter is a beautiful time to be at the cemetery.

He cringes.

Maybe he is mad.

"Once a person passes away, you don't really have anyone to make sure they're okay, do you? To make sure their memory stands intact?" Granger is continuing her ramble, but Draco isn't really listening, steel grey eyes looking down at his red, frozen palms instead.

It's December; in another month, his exile will be over. His wand will be given back to him, his Gringotts vault will be activated. He will be able to enter the Wizarding World once again.

Oddly enough, after almost a year spending his life without magic, he isn't that tempted to come back to it. Draco cannot remember the feeling of having magic surge through his fingertips to his wand- and he cannot bring himself to miss it. He looks around at the graveyard, with it's empty stark tree branches and white snow curtained over the entire land, and he feels that painful pang in his chest.

Everything is so much simpler here. It's been his home for so long- Charles Wicklebrow, Susan Yewborn, Monica and Wendell Wilkins- and the hundreds of other gravestones.

They've become close in a way nobody has ever been close to him.

The warm body next to him shifts and he feels a hand grip his arm. He looks down to see Granger looking up at him, her eyes darker and calmer than he ever remembers them being. He can feel his heart thudding fast; the blood rushing in his head, but he can't pull away.

How odd- he thinks- to have been torn away from the Wizarding world, only to meet her here.

"Thinking?" she asks quietly, her warm breath falling on his face. He shivers.

"Something like that."

"What about?"

His hands wrap around the spade as he turns around going back to work, teeth gritted.

"About how you're one of the only human company I've ever had in this place." he says, disgruntled, giving her a annoyed look. She really can't stay out of anyone's business, can she?

She doesn't say anything, expect for blink in surprise and then lean forward, her voice curious "' _One_ of the only'?" she quotes, surprised "Someone else comes here to meet you?"

Draco thinks of Amelia, and bites his lip to stop himself from smirking "Something like that."

"Draco!"

Talk of the devil.

The two look up on cue, and Draco's features soften as he catchers the tiny figure of Amelia Newborn flitting through the snow, running up to him. She's covered in a thick woollen jacket that is covering more than half of her small body. Mr. Newborn is smiling as he walks slowly behind her, hands clutching the usual bouquet of daisies.

"That would be her." Draco nods to Granger "Her name's Amel- _oof!_ " he's cut off as the girl throws herself at him and he's knocked back into the cold snow.

Finding that ridiculous grin curve his lips, he wraps both arms around her, and nods to Granger, who looks bewildered. He likes her that way- it's not everyday you get to shock the shit out of the bushy-haired know-it-all.

"Oh, it took so _late_ to come today! Daddy said that it's really cold and that I had to wear _mittens_ , but I _hate_ them, and they were in such a horrible shade of green that I- oh!" Amelia shuts up, cheeks going pink as she pulls back from Draco's arms to find Granger staring down at her. She presses herself close into Draco's arms.

Granger breaks into a kind smile, lending out a hand to Amelia. "Hello, I don't believe we've met before. I'm Hermione Granger."

Amelia perks up "Oh, you're the Marigold Lady!"

Granger look on in confusion, and then glances at Draco, who's watching the exchange, still lying on his back on the snow supported by his elbows "I see Draco's talked about me, then?"

Amelia nods fervently "I helped him plant those marigolds." she says proudly, standing up to her full height "It was a really good choice, Miss Granger."

Hermione quirks a brow "A good choice, huh? You think?"

The little girl nods, eyes bright and sparkling "Marigolds are put on the alters on the Day of the Dead, you know. They say that their scent guide the spirits of the dead back to theirfamilies on that day. I bet knowing that your parents' are always here for you will help you feel happy. It helps make me happy."

Under Granger's bewildered, shell-shocked expression, Amelia flushes and Draco fights the urge to laugh. He's having a surprising amount of fun watching this.

"Sorry." Amelia muttered, squirming, her right arm comfortably looped around Draco's neck. She sinks into him a little, pressing her face against his neck, comforted "Daddy says sometimes I butt in people's private business too much."

"No, no, it's alright, I just- I didn't think you'd know that." Granger cocks her head to the side "You're very smart."

And the exhilarated look on the girl's face is back. She leaps from Draco's arms, dragging Granger away, chattering at twenty words per second as she leads the older woman to Draco's cottage without so much as asking for his permission.

And Draco just lays there, in awe.

.

.

.

"I never took you to be the children type."

Draco groans- trust Granger not to say one word about his cottage or anything- and get straight to the point.

"I'm not."

The sun is setting, and Amelia has long since left with her father, leaving Draco alone at his place with Granger.

He'd always known Granger for her compassion and tenderness- but to witness it right before him when she had talked to Amelia had been an entirely different experience. He'd watched Granger loop her arms around Amelia and pull her into her lap, soothingly telling her stories about her childhood- stories that fascinated even him, that made him want to go, step forward and sneak a little bit closer to her and listen in.

Granger now settles herself on the wooden chair in the centre of the cottage that overlooks the back verandah.

"Then what was that with Mia today?"

He shrugs, walking back with two mugs of coffee. "She came up to me a few months back, demanding I put lilies on her mother's grave. I couldn't say no."

Granger's lips lift up "Went soft, did you?"

"No." he scowls "It's my job- I'm the grave keeper. I'm supposed to take care of the graves."

"Ah, right." she smirks into her mug, taking a sip. She makes a face. "Do you add any sugar at all?"

"You're welcome for the coffee." he says dryly, gesturing towards the kitchen "Help yourself."

She gets up and makes her way to the counter, looking around, taking in the sparse furniture, eyes alight.

Draco studies her. Granger looks like she always had in school- ready and eager to take new information in, and its slightly amusing, considering he's the subject. It's also slightly mad, but then, he's resolved to not take note of that anymore. He works at a cemetery, and Hermione Granger is in his house. Surely, it can't get any madder than that.

"So….this is where you live." Granger says conversationally, her eyes drinking in the polished wood that surrounds her. His place is small, but it's remarkably well kept.

"Yes."

"It's beautiful." she murmurs "Not something I would've imagined Draco Malfoy living in."

Draco lifts a brow, and wordlessly takes a sip of his coffee. To be honest, he wouldn't have imagined it either.

She laughs quietly. "Who would've known a place inside a cemetery could feel so calming. "

"On the contrary, isn't that what a cemetery is for?" he says, looking up "For people to rest in peace?"

She looks at him in confusion, and her eyes are intense, and he can't look at her anymore. He looks away, taking a huge gulp of his coffee and childishly hiding his face behind his mug.

Truth is, this graveyard has been his escape from the past year. Everything about it is strangely comforting and mind-numbing- the sound of the whistling wind, the comforting crackle of the fire during chilly nights, the overview of the stream. His nightmares don't haunt him as much- and if they do, there's no one around for miles to hear him scream.

"Enough about me." he says "What about you, Granger? I'd imagine you'd have better things to do than visit people in graveyards."

At her silence, he adds "I can't fathom why you're bothering yourself here talking to _me_."

She gives him a funny look as she walks back to join him in the living room, stirring her coffee steadily "You've changed. You dig graves now, and you're friends with children-"

"-It's _one_ kid-"

"-And I can't- you seem so _happy_ with your life." she lets out a laugh, and it's minute later that he realises she sounds bitter.

"Happy?" He wants to say that he really isn't- that happiness is something so foreign to him that he cannot even dream about what exactly being happy would feel like, but something about her expression makes him pause.

"-And I can't think of one reason why you should be." she continues, not aware of the stunned look he's giving her. She's rambling "And here I am- with everything I could've ever dreamt of, and I'm- I'm-"

He knows that feeling well. He's been living with it for quite some time now, and he's made peace with it. He looks down at his coffee mug, waiting for her to continue.

"-and I'm just…" she sounds exhausted "It's so _stupid_. Everybody's out there building their lives, and I don't even understand how we began to have these _roles_ , but all of a sudden, Harry's the answer to everybody's problems! And Ron's the charming, goofy hero who you can always count on, and I'm the- the _bookworm_." she spits angrily. Draco's surprised she can contain so much loathing. "The Brightest Witch of our Age', and yes, I'm honoured- but honestly?! Who gave us such titles? We're nothing of the sorts- we're just three ordinary people!"

"Three ordinary people, who defeated the Darkest Lord of all times?" Draco asks dryly.

She gives him a dark look "Yes, fine, we're brighter than most, but we're not Gods!"

"Weasel? Brighter than most?" Draco scoffs "Please."

She glares at him, flushed. But then her lips lift and she laughs, rubbing a palm over her face and shaking her head, smiling. She's _smiling_ , and it's absolutely amazing, and Draco can feel his chest constrict.

"And then I find you here, in a Muggle cemetery-" she looks into his eyes, and it's exhilarating "-and you looked so much better, so calmer than I've ever seen you. And I just had to know _how_. How you managed to find it even after everything that happened."

Draco snorts. She's sugar-coating it, making it sound so much more romantic than it is in actuality. Why is he not surprised?

"Has it ever occurred to you that I didn't have a choice, Granger? That I had to do all this because I knew I was the only one who gave a flying fuck about myself?" he shifts closer to the fire, and inadvertently closer to her "It's not as poetic as you make it sound. I take care of dead bodies, and that's all there is to it."

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head, looking out into the rain. "Do you like it in here?"

He takes a deep breath. Does he? And why the fuck is he having this conversation with Hermione Granger, of all people?

He sighs "Yes, I do."

"Will you continue living here?"

He looks at her in confusion "Where else am I going to go?"

"Your court hearing is on January 4th. Your exile gets over on that day." she blinks at him in surprise "Don't tell me you forgot."

No, he hasn't. But he is surprised she remembers.

"I haven't." He looks around his place "But I don't think I want to leave."

"What? Why?!"

"I find this graveyard oddly enticing."

"Draco, this isn't the time for jokes. I'm serious."

So is he.

Maybe.

He cannot remember when she started calling him by his given name.

He shifts. "Look Granger, I appreciate the concern, but I doubt the Wizarding World will be welcoming me back with open arms-"

"So what? You're can't hide forever in-"

"And I don't have any qualifications for a job-"

"The Ministry is responsible for employment for all-"

"The Ministry will _not_ be interfering with my life after my release." Draco snaps icily.

Granger looks at him, and then nods "Of course not, but they will provide employment options for you. It's your prerogative. They can't expect you to saunter into the Wizarding World after a one-year exile and land a job all on your-"

"Dammit, Granger, I don't _have_ anyone over there" he snaps, getting to his feet "There's no reason for me to go and build a life there when I have a perfectly good one here-"

" _Good_?" she looks exasperated, standing up herself and gesturing wildly around them "-You call this _good_?! You live in a _cemetery_ , Draco! I know you're guilty, alright? I know that you- you feel like you owe Muggles this-"

"Don't you _dare_ even begin to think you know how I feel-"

"-But you can't continue isolating yourself from the rest of the world!"

He gives her a cold look "And what makes you think you have any say in what I do with my life?"

Granger hesitates, and Draco's eyes darken. "Just because you've come here and visited me for a few weeks- just because you know where I work and have talked to me a few times, you think you know enough to tell me what to do? Or to understand why I do what I do?"

"I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through. I never have." Eyes solemn, Granger looks at him with such professionalism that it hurts. She looks so sure of herself all of a sudden, as if his cold words have done nothing to her, and he feels compelled to stare. She looks far too attractive from him to look away, and her scent is getting to him- that warm hint of cinnamon hovering and drinking in his senses in the warmth of the fire as he glares at her bright eyes, the sudden power that surrounds her.

He sits back down, shifting in his chair and wincing. He _hates_ her for doing this to him. He always has.

"I care." she says softly, and the two words tug at his heart "You've become such a nice person- and I want other people to see that! See that you're more than the spoilt brat who called me a Mudblood, more than just the mistakes you made."

He glares, fists clenching "They were not _mistakes_ , they were _decisions._ Tough decisions to make, yes, but well thought-out nonetheless- and I would make them all over again if I have to. Just like _you_ would erase your parents' memories all over again if _you_ had to."

Granger is staring, and Draco knows she's probably disgusted with him, but it doesn't matter. He means it. He _would_ make the same decisions.

"You could've come to Dumbledore. Asked for help. There was another way. He would've tried his best to protect you. "

She sounds like she's accusing him. He doesn't know when she got the power to hurt him again, but it feels like she's always had it.

"Trying wouldn't have been good enough for my family." he says tightly "When Voldemort is living in your house, and there are Death Eaters who have access to everything you touch and eat and drink, ' _trying_ ' is not good enough."

Granger flushes "But you're more than that now."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not a fucking angel. And I have no intention of going to the Wizarding World to prove myself. People can think whatever they want of me."

Draco can't help but realise how much he doesn't mean that at all. Granger is scowling at him, ready to pull her hair out in frustration.

"Fine." she snaps, "You do know I'm not going to stop visiting you though, don't you?"

He takes a sip of his coffee, laying back. "I doubt anyone could stop you if they tried."

.

.

.

It takes some time to fully appreciate what you used to have, Draco realises that after a few days.

It's six in the morning, and he's bleary-eyed and dressed in pyjamas, yawning into outstretched palms while Granger paces his living room frantically, muttering under her breath, face livid.

"Can't believe he has the nerve to just…! What I do is _my_ business, and it's _my_ job! Not everybody wants to pop out babies the minute they get- and I don't even understand _why_ -"

"It's six a.m, Granger." Draco interrupts her "What the fuck do you want?!"

She pauses to send him a glare "I want to talk!"

"And it couldn't wait?! I might have a meagre job, but I do have places I need to be!"

"Oh, and where is that?!" she snaps harshly "Off to some secluded corner to talk to a grave?"

Draco sits up straighter, fists clenching, teeth gritted. Whatever his methods may be, she has no right to question them.

She sighs, coming to a halt and running a hand over her face. It's the first time Draco notices that she's covered in dirt, and her fingers are trembling.

"I'm sorry, that- that was uncalled for."

"You barging into my house at bloody five in the morning was uncalled for." he retorts coldly.

Granger doesn't say anything, just stands there. Her robes are hanging off her shoulders limply, tattered and torn, and she's standing unnaturally still for someone who looks so shaken. Draco doesn't know what this feeling is, this suddenly clenching of his throat, but he doesn't like it. He sighs, allowing his body to relax, taking a deep breath.

"Granger..what exactly happened?"

She leans against the fireplace, wrapping her arms around her. "I'm cold."

Draco looks on for a minute, before his gaze travels down to his bedcovers. He heaves the blanket up and makes his way to her, gently wrapping it around her shoulders. She's trembling and sniffing, and has moved her face away so that he can't see her. So that he can't witness her this…vulnerable, he thinks. He's new to people being vulnerable around him.

"…Better?" He asks softly. He grants her this small sense of dignity, moving away to add logs to the fire.

She gives another sniff and snuggles into the blanket, sinking into a nearby armchair, eyes fluttering shut. He places a mug of sweetened coffee next to her and sits down on the carpeted floor facing her, leaning against the foot of his bed, and looks up at her expectantly. The fire crackles, emitting sparks of violent golden, and Granger looks heart-breakingly fragile in the darkness of the morning.

"What happened?"

Her eyes close shut and she breathes deeply, "One of my partners, he…he was captured last night when we were on a mission. I lost myself for a moment and barged in, throwing hexes without looking." Granger pauses, wincing as her hand trails down to her left thigh. "It was a stupid move, I know. I got hit and injured myself pretty badly. Once it was all over and I was brought to St. Mungo's, Ron was beside himself. He kept shouting about how I should quit. Harry tried calming him down, but he wouldn't listen, and I didn't _want_ to listen, and Ron kept on yelling, and I just…" she stops talking, and she looks so infuriatingly calm and kept together that it makes Draco want to punch something. Her eyes are carefully blank, and expression impassive, no trace of her previous anger present. "-I wanted to break away. Sorry I disturbed."

Draco's eyes stare transfixed at her, and then he looks away. "Well, you did infer last time that we were some sort of friends. I take this as a quite normal occurrence in friendships, yes?"

The look Granger throws him sends him off balance. Her eyes are wide, and he stares back, until she's suddenly bursting into fits of laughter. Embarrassed and irritated, he glares. "What?!"

"N-Nothing, it's- the things that you s-say!" she covers her mouth, tears streaming down her eyes "'Occurrence in friendships'! What, Draco?! Haven't you ever had a friend before?"

"Can't say that I have, no." he tilts his head, thinking about Crabbe and Giyle and Pansy Parkinson. "But sounds like you had one hell of a night."

She nods, wiping her eyes, her expression sobering. Draco realises he really likes how she smiles. "I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining- but after all of that, I just wanted to come home to someone who would comfort me, not yell at me. I don't- I keep trying to come up with a reason that would justify why I'm still with Ron, but…I can't."

Draco wonders why in the world Granger's telling him this in the first place. But then, he's long since stopped questioning the weirdness of this world. He folds his arms. "All the reason in the world will not be able to justify why you're still with that oaf."

Hermione laughs, and Draco feels ridiculously proud of himself.

Almost every morning after then, he's unceremoniously woken up by Granger yanking his blanket away and declaring it a beautiful day- even if it is bloody raining outside.

Occasionally, she asks him to join her for a morning jog, saying that he really needs some physical exercise. He quickly erases that assumption from her mind by racing ahead and leaving her far behind within five minutes into it. All that grave-digging has given him a large amount of stamina, and by the end of the hour, he's grinning as an extremely pissed off, breathless, red-in-the-face Hermione stamps past him into his cottage for their now customary morning coffee, glaring.

"Not- a- word, Draco!" she shouts over her shoulder, and he can barely hold his laughter in. She looks hilarious, with bits of twigs and leaves in her wild hair. Draco never thought a simple race with her could be so entertaining, but it seems like her hair has a habit of getting stuck everywhere. He wonders what it would be like to tangle his fingers in them, and yank them back- to trail his lips down the side of her neck and…

-That's when he usually clears his throat, insults her, and tries to avoid the weird look she gives him, the tip of his ears going pink.

He finds out that her hair turn into a bush whenever she runs, and that he really likes it when her cheeks are flushed and she's breathless from exercise. She's red and warm and toasty, especially in a graveyard surrounded by the cold.

And all of a sudden, even though he knows he's always called her Granger, she becomes Hermione to him.

.

.

.

The ease with which Granger is becoming a part of Draco's life is frightening.

She is singing. _Singing._ Draco shifts against his position, wincing as she sings a particularly high note.

And she is _not_ good.

Hands and muscles calmly working up the snow as he brings the shovel down hard against the ground, he breathes- a single puff of thick foggy air leaving his lips.

They're at his place, where he is shovelling the snow aside to create a pathway as Granger sits on the verandah, a mug of hot chocolate tucked in her hands and her legs swaying as she continues to watch him, humming.

Draco doesn't know when trips to his cottage becomes common between them; but somewhere between her stubbornness, and his nonchalance, it became a routine. Frankly, eh doesn't even want to put up a fight anymore. Fuck conscience, Granger is here, and she is real, and she's talking to him. That's all that matters.

He leads back to survey his work, and his eyes involuntarily wander to where Granger is sitting.

She's….he can't even begin to describe her. She always looks so chaotically poised- with her flyaway hair, her slender arms and graceful, powerful movements- definite and confident, the thin press of her lips…and the sharpness in her gaze.

Her hands are wrapped around the mug, and her hair are bushy. Her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and honey eyes dark as she regards him, cocking her head to the side.

There's a moment- a heart-stopping moment when their eyes lock, and Draco feels himself freeze. Granger's gaze softens, and the corners of her lips curl.

She looks so _warm_.

"You could've made some for me, you know." he says dryly, gesturing to her mug.

"The day I make hot chocolate for Draco Malfoy is the day pigs start flying."

He scoffs, setting his shovel down and sitting down next to her "Also, the day you win a race against me."

"Hey-!" she protests as he grabs the mug from her and takes a long sip "I could win a race against you!"

He smirks "Yes, sure. And all these mornings you've just been going easy on me, haven't you?"

"You don't play fair." she pouts.

He grins, he really doesn't. But then, she's cute when she tries to argue with him. "Well, I don't have a wand. The least you can do is let me cheat."

She gives him a curious look "You know…I would've expected you to be more hostile towards that."

He cocks an eyebrow "Towards not having a wand?"

She nods "And having to come live in the Muggle world."

"Please." he shakes his head with scorn "I think the Wizarding World has made it clear that I'm no longer welcome."

"Yes..but you've obviously gone to great lengths to avoid any contacts with other Muggles."

He looks at her, a little... _hurt_ , is he? After all this, is this really what she thinks of him? "Is that what you think? That I still have something against Muggles?"

She doesn't reply.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who earlier presumed that I worked here because i felt like I owed Muggle borns this." he continues quietly. He doesn't like this feeling- it hurts to know she thinks he might not have changed.

She studies him, her brows raising, and he realises his mistake instantly, closing his eyes and cursing under his breath. He's fallen right into her trap.

"So you _do_ feel like that!"

He glares at her "I'm not talking to you about any of this."

Every part of him is screaming to just…. _let go._ He's held it in for _so long._ The deaths of his parents, banishment from the world, the loss of a family and friends and a home and…. _everything_. It's all overwhelming- how all of a sudden, the weight of everything that has happened in the past year comes down to attack him all at once. He's left gasping for breathing, fists clenched, not knowing- how- where- _what_ did he do?! _How_ did he survive all of that?! What is he _doing- how did he end up here?!_

"Draco, there's no one here for miles.." her voice is nothing compared to the soft hand that comes to place on his shoulder, the warm that spreads through his body through her touch. "…you've been living in a place with dead bodies. I'm not judging, and I'm not saying it's not okay…but I think it's time you admitted you're a lot lonelier than you'd want to be."

She's right- although as if he's ever going to tell her _that._ He looks up at his great, polished cottage, and then at the snow-laden estate around him. He'd come here because he'd wanted to be alone, but he doesn't fancy being lonely.

"I broke up with Ron."

His head jerks up to regard the look on Granger's face.

 _Where did that come from?!_

"What?" he hates that his voice is so dry.

"I broke up with Ron." she repeats, and her gaze flickers down to his lips.

He swallows "And why exactly are you telling me about your relationship with Weasley?"

She shrugs, but the glint in her eyes is a tad bit more suggestive.

"Just thought I should mention it. Just in case."

He raises a brow "Why would you think I had-"

The soft strumming of a guitar interrupts him, and he sighs. This is possibly the only thing he doesn't like about the cemetery, altho- ironically, its the main reason why his job exists.

"What- is that a guitar?"

"Yes." he replies, eyes looking up at the blue sky. "There's a funeral going on."

"A-?"

"They play the deceased's favourite song sometimes. Or a tribute, towards the end of the service." he eyes her "I thought you'd know that"

"Oh." she shifts in discomfort "We….um…..tended to not have music."

He nods. Everybody who died in the war had been saluted with graced silence and a lighting of everybody's wands at their funeral, followed by speeches given by friends and family and officials from the Ministry, with innumerable reporters arriving and creating a ruckus out of the entire procession. They had turned the deaths of martyrs into a PR gimmick. If Draco remembers correctly, Granger had actually punched Rita Skeeter in the face once during Tonks and Lupin's funeral for not respecting Andromeda's privacy. He smiles drily. Granger has a mean right hook.

"Well, I better get changed." he stands up, shovel in hand.

"What- where are you going?"

"In another hour, I'm going to have cover the are they buried the coffin in, Granger." he eyes her with steely, bored eyes "Planting flowers isn't my only job."

She looks up at him for a minute, not saying anything. Brown eyes darting to the shovel in his hand, she looks nervous.

"Can I help?"

.

.

.

It's the weirdest thing Draco has ever done, and he has done some pretty weird things.

Wiping soil from his hands, smudging them on his cheeks, Draco pants heavily as he leans back next to Granger.

She's grinning, red in the face, heavily flushed from exercise as she sniffs precariously, wiping her brow from the sleeves of her robes.

She opens her mouth breathlessly "That was-"

"Bizarre?"

She shakes her head, giving him an exhilarating smile "- _Fun."_

The funeral service has long been over, everyone has left and the sun has already set- and for some reason, Draco feels that inexplicable urge to _smile._ For absolutely no reason whatsoever other than the fact that he's in Granger's company.

"I didn't think this could feel so satisfying." she says, eyes still on the ground they've filled. The surrounding field is a mess of snow and uprooted grass and mud- but Draco doesn't care as he sits down on a particularly cold patch of snow "That feeling of putting someone to rest, to be in peace. I really thought it would've been the opposite."

He rolls his eyes "Trust you to bring an optimistic outlook on burying someone."

She smiles at him "It's why you do this, isn't it?'

He decides not to look at her, and looks up at the night sky in the chilling darkness instead "Perhaps."

She turns away again, and stands there quietly. Even though he wouldn't admit it in a million years, Draco is observing her- drinking in her every curve. Every feature of her hurts, like a shooting star straight through his then there's that urge to just reach out and pull her onto him.

She laughs out loud- bringing him back to the world, and it's the most musical sound he's ever heard. "I'm exhausted" she surveys the tool in her hand peculiarly "This is heavier than it looks."

"Really? Big, strong brave Gryffindor tired from a little shovel?" he mocks, a smirk pulling at his lips "I always knew you were never one for physical labour, Granger."

"Please, I'm tougher than you. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth."

He shakes his head. He doesn't mind the bickering- the small taunts and jibes- or the mud and filth sticking to his skin in dry, uncomfortable patches. A shower can wait. Everything else can wait when he's with her.

"I think we can both agree that I'm not that brat anymore."

And against the silvery sheen of light, the Granger that turns to look down at him is breathtakingly beautiful, despite the snow and dirt in her hair and the dry smudges across her cheek.

She smiles.

"I know you aren't."- and something about the way she smiles when she says that makes his heart explode into a million fireworks. She extends him a hand- maybe to offer to pull him up, but he can't help taking hold of it and pulling her down. With a yelp, Granger falls forward and lands gracelessly on his chest.

He cushions her fall, eyes locking onto hers, his right arm curling around her waist, clutching the thin fabric of her robes, fingers tracing the small touch of skin he can sense breath is falling on his lips and she looks bewildered, brown eyes wide in shock. But she doesn't move away, and Draco- for half a second- leans forward. He can feel her closing in...and then clench in fear, and he stops.

She's just broken up with Weasley. Now is not the time. He _can't_ \- he isn't- he grits his teeth tightly, eyes clenched shut. He is so painfully aroused- _so_ ready to just forget about everything and kiss her and pull her into a hug and never let her go but he…. _can't._ It's not the right way- it's not the proper timing. She's afraid….she might say that nothing effects her, but she needs time because Merlin only knows if he's going to do it, he's going to do it right. It's _Granger._

He sighs, and with every last ounce of self-control left in him, slowly backs away.

He can feel her breath falling on his lips like soft, velvet mist and she smells like warmth and feels like home…and he _can't._ Not like this.

"I….." his voice is a mere whisper, and he looks up to see that her eyes are open, and she is looking down at him with a kind of emotion he can't quite put his finger on. Her gaze is like milk, features smoothed over by the darkness around them. "….We should-" he clears his throat "-We should head back. It's getting late."

"What- oh!" she blinks, and then flustered and taken by surprise, backs away and jumps to her feet, smoothing her hair down, cheeks pink. "Right! Of course, we should- it's- I have to go home. Right."

He doesn't move for a second, sitting on the wet patch of snow and taking in how good she looks. What did he do to deserve having her enter his life and completely turn everything upside down? He is not used to this- this kind of open expression of care from anybody.

"Draco?" she turns to look down at him "Are you coming? "

He takes a deep breath and jumps to his feet. _Not now._ "Yes "

 _I'm going to do this right._

.

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* * *

 **A/N: So this...was part one! :D Part two will be coming up sometime next week, for sure :)**

 **Please excuse any typos or grammatical errors that I might've overlooked, I'm very sleepy, and it's really late here. I'll make sure to go through it once again and correct those mistakes next time.**

 **Please tell me what you guys thought! Was it too abrupt? Weird? I love constructive criticism, and thank you so much for dropping by!**

 **Check out my other HP stories and p** **lease review, it means so, so much to an author!**

 **~SS~**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Second part up! (I apologize for the tardiness)**

 **Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter. I never did :'(**

* * *

.

.

.

 _Dress, dress me down_

 _I don't mind_

 _Leave me to my insides_

 _I don't need this lonely skin anymore_

 _._

 _._

.

Snow is bad.

Draco curses under his breath as yet another snowball hits him in the back, followed by incessant giggling.

"A little more to the right, Amelia."

That little-

 _Smack!_

This time, it's smack dab at the back of his skull and Draco almost falls over his head. Wet globs of ice trickles down the back of his collar and he throws his shovel aside and swivels around.

"Alright, _thats it-_ don't you two have better things to do on a Saturday!?"

Looking back with the most innocent expressions they can muster, Grangers smiles in amusement as Amelia folds her arms, pretending to think.

"Nope, can't say we do!" she decides "Ain't that right, 'Mione?"

' _Mione_ she calls her now. Draco's not utterly sure if he's fond of Granger's new budding friendship with Amelia. Gritting his teeth, he tries to look as menacing as he can- but really, the irritation is real.

He's spent the past one hour shovelling snow off the walkways, and Granger and Amelia have been nothing but a menace.

"Completely right, Mia. Plus, Draco could do with a little fun sometimes, don't you think? He's so _grumpy_ all the time."

"I am _not_ grumpy!"

"-Just like the dwarf-"

Amelia giggles "He has white hair too."

"They're _platinum blonde,_ Mia. How many-"

"-And then there are the lectures-" Hermione rolls her eyes, having a long-suffering sigh "When will he ever learn?"

"Granger, I swear to Merlin, if you say one more word-"

"But its _snow_!" Hermione says and her eyes are bright as they twinkle at him "How can you be so engrossed with your work that you don't take time out of your time to enjoy snow?"

He gives her a bewildered look. Sometimes, the way Granger looks when she's talking about something that means a lot to her, Draco gets an ache inside his chest. He's jealous- but he's also getting so dangerously close to liking all these little things about her in such a short time- and it's confusing and baffling and scary.

"I don't like snow."

Granger raises her brows "You said you liked the cold."

"Yes." He proceeds to brush the chips of ice that have trickled down the folds of his clothes "I never said I liked the snow."

"Why? Because its got the capacity to touch you?"

He falters and looks at her. Her gaze is intense, and for a second, he _hates_ her. He hates how she can say one word and somehow end up getting right to the point. One that they hadn't even been making in the first place.

"I have no idea what you're on about, Granger."

Hermione shakes her head "You confuse me sometimes."

He knows. It's okay.

He confuses himself too.

.

.

.

Its Christmas, and Draco's eyebrow is twitching. What the _fuck_ have they done to this place?

A snowball whizzes at him- his past Seeker reflexes kicking in without him really meaning to, or even realising- he ducks as it flies past him, smacking into the tree behind him. He turns to glare back at a hopping Amelia and smiling Hermione.

"Merry Christmas, Draco!" Amelia calls from the distance, her arm waving, cheeks flushed.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

Hermione rolls her eyes "Don't be ridiculous. A snowball won't kill you."

"No, not at all. There's just the potential risk of me falling and breaking my neck over one of the gravestones, I suppose."

"Nice to know your sense of humour's back." Granger's lips flatten into a smile and she spreads her arms around, gesturing to the graveyard "What do you think? I thought you could do with some holiday cheer!"

Draco's eyes flit back to what he'd been doing before- observing his cemetery.

The entire graveyard is filled with lights. White curtains of snow cover the soft ground prettily, bordering the gravestones, brushed off softly so that the names engraved on them are visible over the string of fairy lights that are dancing from tree to tree, twinkling and swinging. Everything about the place is so calmingly beautiful that it throws Draco off-balance. The soft yellow lights seem to provide enough warmth for him to want to stand there forever, feet dug in the snow, lips slightly parted, in the haze of how subtly pretty it looks.

He has always envisioned the graveyard to be a place of frightening calm for him…but never of happiness- never of such enveloping surge of warmth that it's heart-aching.

"…When did you do this?" he asks, although he wagers he already knows. His day had started with a suspiciously stubborn Amelia, who had woken him up and told him to go to the city and buy lilies.

That it was a matter of utmost _urgency_.

He eyes Granger, who shifts, smiling sheepishly.

"You made me go all the way to the city so you could decorate the graveyard?"

"Well you _are_ unhealthily obsessed with it. You needed a change of scenery anyway."

Draco ducks again as another snowball flies past his ear, and this time, smacks into a quietly approaching- and from what looks like it extremely drunk- Harold. He flies off his feet with a disgruntled cry, and falls on the floor with a hard thud.

"Aw cheer up!" Amelia cries happily, spreading her arms wide as Harold gets up with a loud groan "It's Christmas!"

"Bloody hell, what 'appened here?" Harold shuffles over to his feet as he stares at the lights around him, "I get Draco's flower obsession, but didn't expect you'd let 'em touch your precious gravestones."

He's carrying his customary bottle of whiskey that he drowns himself in on every festivity- may it be Thanksgiving, New years Eve, or Christmas. Draco faintly remembers a blurry Easter spent in Harold's arms as the old man bellowed out nonsensical songs.

"Ruddy hell, you shoulda been here for last Christ-" Harold pauses, blinking at Granger through bushy eyebrows. His jaw sets and he squints, shuffling closer. "Am I really that drunk or is there a pretty lady in front of me?"

"You really are drunk if you think _that's_ pre- _oof!_ " Draco rubs his torso, wincing from where Hermione has harshly elbowed him. She is looking at Harold's twittering, stumbling figure with fascination. Her eyes are wide, like she is on the verge of interviewing the man.

He sighs,"Granger, Harold, the other grave keeper. Harold, Hermione Granger, the classmate from school I told you about."

Granger throws him an amused smile "Have you been talking about me to everyone?"

In Draco's defence, his "everyone" consists of only Harold and Amelia.

"Oh, the pigtails girl!" Harold grabs both Hermiones' hands with one of his, shaking them enthusiastically "Merry Christmas, lass, Merry Christmas!"

The whiskey sloshes sloppily out of the bottle he's holding with his other hand. Draco suspects he is already halfway drunk and so, doesn't do anything but roll his eyes as Granger eyes him in bewilderment and mouths " _The pigtails girl…?"_ from behind Harold.

Draco turns pink and looks away.

.

.

.

" _Pleeeaase?"_

"No."

Amelia's cheeks are flushed heavily, partly due to the warm toasty fire Draco has started in the hearth, and partly because he knows she is currently very angry with him.

"Pretty please? One sip, I promise!"

His jaw clenches, as he grips his eggnog tighter "No, Mia."

"But I promise I won't get drunk! Just one sip!"

"Your father is five minutes away. He will have me by the neck if he hears I gave you eggnog."

"I promise I won't tell him!"

Draco shakes his head "Thats not the point. Eggnog is not meant for you."

The thought of Amelia growing up fills him with a nauseating feeling. She's so much better like this- ten years old and blissfully happy, without a care in the world.

Amelia is here with her father, who had allowed her to go wish Draco a merry Christmas while he had some private time at his wife's grave. Draco's eyes drift towards Granger, who is sitting across from him, engaged in deep conversation with Harold.

 _Why_ she's here, he has no idea. She has her friends to celebrate the holidays with. What, then, is she doing _here_ , in a lonely lit-up graveyard with him?

She glances up at him from the other side of the room and smiles, and for a minute, his heart warms. There is an overwhelming rush of… _something_ that feels intense and makes his heart ache for the woman sitting right there in front of him. His heart swells with pride- pride for having made her smile. If he has been able to get such a reaction, such _affection_ from Hermione Granger, then he can do anything.

"Draco, _please!_ Please, please, please! One sip!" The rough, stubborn tugging of his elbow by Mia brings Draco back to earth.

"I'm not going to give it to you, Mia."

"But it's _Christmas-"_

"I can get you apple juice, if you'd like."

Amelia makes a face "Ew, no. Cold apple juice is disgusting."

"Warm apple juice then?"

" _No,_ I want _eggnog_!"

"How about hot chocolate with two marshmallows?" his lips twitch "Granger makes great hot chocolate."

Amelia hesitates, and Draco waits with bated breath, eyeing her to see if she is going to give in or not. He can see her inner conflict between wanting to be an adult and demanding eggnog, or admitting to the temptations of hot chocolate.

"I like hot chocolate too." he adds innocently.

She eyes him suspiciously, then her shoulders slump.

"Fine."

"Excellent. Hop along to Granger then."

Amelia tilts her head and stands on her tiptoes, as if contemplating something she doesn't exactly know how to comprehend. Folding her arms over the armrest of the armchair, she peers at him "Why do you call her Granger?"

He raises a brow "Because its her name?"

"No, her name's Hermione."

"Yes, her name is Hermione Granger."

"Yes, but friends call each other by their first names. Even she calls you Draco. But you only call her Granger."

Draco doesn't know what to say. How to tell Mia that he can never call her Hermione- it's got such a false sense of familiarity to it. "Granger" is who she has always been to him- Muggleborn, smart distant…unattainable.

 _Oh, but she's right here._

"Draco? Are you alright? You're smiling."

Before he can come up with an amicable response, he hears the shifting of shoes to find Granger standing there, eyes glinting.

"Don't worry, it's the eggnog." she whispers conspiringly to Amelia "There's not much time before he loses all sense of control, like Harold over there." She points to a flushed Harold, who hasn't realised that Granger isn't sitting with him anymore, and is still talking animatedly to the thin air in front of him.

Amelia looks at the drink in Draco's hands in disgust "Maybe I shouldn't have that, after all."

Granger smiles and Draco eyes her "I'll have you know I have an exceptionally high tolerance for alcohol." -and he's not lying either. When spending the span of almost a year in the company of Harold, one tends to grow a pretty good tolerance.

"Whatever you say." Hermione turns to smirk at Amelia "I think you should give him your present before he loses his mind, just in case."

"Oh!" Amelia rushes over to the other room as Draco glares at Hermione.

"Honestly, Granger, I am not going to- wait, what?" He pauses "Present?"

Granger is looking at him like he is slightly whacked "Yes. Your Christmas present, Draco."

They got him Christmas presents?

Of course, he got _them_ presents. But….he hadn't expected something in return.

Hermione smiles down at him "She put a lot of hard work into her present, by the way. Just letting you know."

Just then, Amelia comes running back, hiding something behind her awkwardly.

"I made it for you" she says excitedly, and her blue eyes are positively shining. Draco can't help but be amused and he tilts his head. She hands him a poorly wrapped present, that is soft and wobbly and crinkles as he takes it.

"And what might this be?"

He tears the wrapping paper carefully, and blinks at what he sees.

It's a sweater.

A grey sweater- obviously hand-knitted, by the amount of loop holes present there- with the letter " **D** " on the front in emerald green, sloppy and slightly jagged. He takes it carefully out of the paper, running the soft fabric through his fingers.

"So that you won't be cold." Amelia is continuing "You're always digging in the cold."

"Oh no, that's just because he likes the cold weather and freezing to death." Granger says mockingly, but Draco is frozen in his seat. He's oddly touched and the way Amelia is beaming at him, brimming with pride and admiration for him- its suddenly very hard for him to breathe. Guilt and shame seep through his skin.

"Try it! 'Mione took the size of one of your shirts, but I kinda…I made a lot of mistakes." Amelia is rambling, looking abashed as she fidgets with the edge of her dress "But it may fit you and then you won't be cold anymore and you can plant flowers on every grave, even during the winters..."

The words are just passing by him, and Draco feels numb as he slowly gets up, beginning to walk over to his bedroom.

"Draco, wha-?"

He closes the door shut behind him, trying….trying so _hard_ to breath properly and not hyperventilate.

He can hear Amelia go "What did I do? Why'd he leave? Did I do something wrong?" and Granger's comforting reassurances- but everything around him is buzzing, and he clutches his collar tightly, trying to let air in.

He leans over the door, blinking rapidly.

 _These._ _These are Muggles._ The two people who now mean everything to him- they're Muggles.

 _They're the people you used to hate._

 _They're the people you killed. The people you stood by and watched be ripped apart from their families and die. These people- who knit sweaters and read aloud story books and bring flowers for who they care about, who love unconditionally, who live without magic…and yet, somehow don't seem to need it. You thought they were filth. You wanted to kill them._

"Draco?"

There's a knock on his bedroom, and he doesn't know what to do, how to react.

"Can I come in?"

He contemplates not opening. Christmas has never been this warm- this good- and a part of him wants to hide here until everybody leaves, just so he doesn't have to come out and face them. He _can't-_ he's terrible and stupid and _why do they even care about him_?!

"Amelia's waiting for you out here, you know."

His heart sinks into his chest, and he can't swallow, but he can't let her down- not Mia. He reaches out to unlock the door, and lets his hair fall over his eyes as he hears Granger enter.

"Whats wrong?" He can feel the light travelling into the room. Her eyes are on him, but he can't look into them. Before he knows what's happening, her arms are wrapping around his neck, and she's pressing him to her chest and he can hear her heart beating. Beating just like his own does. "What happened?"

"She's Muggle." he whispers quietly. He can feel Granger ease into the embrace, as if she's understood.

"Yes. And she loves you."

A familiar tug makes him look down, where Amelia seems to have entered the room, tiny fists clutching onto the hem of the sweater she's made as it touches the floor. Her eyes are filled with tears; and Draco's heart is suddenly breaking into a million, million pieces.

"Is it b-because it doesn't look nice?" she asks, voice small "Because I t-tried, I swear! but I- I kept on skipping the loops and I wanted to finish it b-before Christmas and 'Mione said you would l-love it anyway, and that it was-"

Draco takes the sweater from her, and begins to pull it on. "Don't be ridiculous." he kneels down to match Mia's height and softly flicks her nose. "It's perfect."

Her eyes widen and she sniffs "Really?"

He nods, eyes softening, and smiles "Better than Granger could ever make it."

"But then- why did you run off?!"

Draco doesn't have an answer for that, but thankfully Granger pitches in.

"Oh he was crying because he was so touched." She breaks into a smirk as he glares at her "And we all know how Draco hates it when people see him cry."

Amelia blinks up at Granger first, then at Draco, as if trying to evaluate the reason given to her, before nodding and slapping both her palms to Draco's cheeks. She pushes them together so that Draco's mouth is all squished up.

"You can cry in front of me, okay?" she says seriously "I promise I won't tell anyone. And even if I do, no one will believe me- my friends think grown-ups never cry, even though I know it's not true. I've seen Daddy cry so many times, and I always keep his secret." She pauses "Don't tell him I said that. But- I pinky swear I'll keep your secret!"

Draco wants to say something just to end her meaningless babble, but it's hard with his cheeks pushed together and he doesn't really want her to stop talking anyway, so he simply nods.

Smiling, Amelia leaps up to hug him and Draco lets her do it, wondering what he did to deserve this much love. He looks up to see Granger smiling at them, and it's the best Christmas he's ever had.

.

.

.

It has been an eventful evening, to say the least. Amelia left shortly after presenting him with the sweater, and he had his own present- a large book on the species of flowers- ready for her.

Harold had been entirely too drunk for the present-exchanging process, and had insisted on gifting Draco with his empty whiskey bottle. Draco had taken it without comment, while Granger tried to suppress her laughter, and sent him off with a ridiculous, feathered hat. Draco had largely gifted Harold the hat for his own amusement, and now watches as the old man disappears around the bend, singing loud carols with the hat on his head, pink feather bobbing up and down fabulously. Which leaves Draco with….Granger.

Confused, Draco looks around, not entirely sure where she is.

The snow is soft, and has increased over a foot over the ground. Some of the string of lights over the spindling branches are flickering to a close now.

Draco walks over, footsteps digging into the snow, letting the breeze calm him down. It has been one hell of a day, and it has yet to come to a close. It's with a jolt that he realizes that it's been weeks since he last felt any sort of heaviness or frustration that once used to be a part of his daily life.

He looks up, and finds Granger kneeling in front of the graves of her parents a few feet away, and immediately comes to a freezing stop.

From where she is, she can't see him. Her robes are slumped- a deadweight. He doesn't know how to put it…but she looks like she has given up, and its not a good look on her.

It strikes Draco- not for the first time, but definitely the first time he allows himself to acknowledge it- that the people who won the Battle also suffered major losses. They were also left behind. They don't consider the winning of the Battle of Hogwarts a victory at all. They never have. There is nothing _victorious_ about this- about watching and missing and crying for loved ones over their graves.

For a moment, Draco wonders if he should walk away and give Granger some privacy. Before he can do so, however, he hears her speak up.

"They didn't know who I was."

He pauses. He doesn't know what gave him away, but then, he isn't surprised she knows he's there. She _is_ one of the best Aurors of her generation, after all.

At the lack of his response, she turns slightly, and her eyes are shining with tears. Something painful clenches Draco's heart.

"They died without knowing they had a daughter." she says softly, lips cracking into an ironic smile as she plays with her wand. There's a wreath adorning both her parents graves that wasn't there before "It's like….all traces of them are gone, Draco. And whatever they had left, theres no trace of me in it." her voice is shaking "There's nothing they own that shows that I existed in their lives…and I- I w-wish-" her grip on her wand is tight and Draco can't move "-I wish they'd just _known_. I just-" she shakes her head and hugs herself "-I just wish they'd known, y'know?" She glances up at him, and she is smiling, and Draco is in awe of her.

It's hard watching her struggle, hard to not walk over to her and hug her fiercely and drag her back to his cottage and make her forget everything.

"Why are you here?" he asks her instead.

Bewildered, she blinks "What do you mean?"

"Why are you _here_? With _me,_ doing- doing _this_?" he points to the graveyard all around him "You could've celebrated Christmas with your friends. Then why _here_?"

"I…"

"Yes?"

"I….thought you might appreciate someone's company."

He grits his teeth, fists clenching. Under the faint lights, Granger's skin in glowing- soft and begging to be touched.

Oh, she _really_ has _no_ idea.

"You…utter…. _idiot_ , Granger." he snaps, beginning to walk over to her. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't back away. "Don't you _see? This_ is what you do- you bloody give everyone second chances, even that arse _Weasley_ , even _me,_ even when we _clearly_ don't deserve it! You sacrifice your own happiness to give them a moment of satisfaction. You stupid, selfless _idiot-"_

"Draco, I-"

"-Even if that means spending time with an ex-Death Eater in a fucking _graveyard_ on _Christmas_ \- what is _wrong_ with you?!" he's on the border of hysteria, because _how can she not see it?!_ She stands there- with those brown curls, and the perfect eyes and the perfect smile and the entire world at her feet- and she wants to waste her time on people who don't deserve any of it? "How can you think so _little_ of yourself? Waste away your time on people who are best left alone to wallow in their regrets?! _Why_ can't you get that into your head that you are _not_ meant to fix _anyone_ -"

"You are worth-"

"-You are meant to fix _you!_ "

He is so close he can feel her breath fall warmly on his. His eyes are burning into hers, and he wants to wipe away the moisture in her eyes and fucking _punch_ Potter and Weasley in the face.

 _How_ the _fuck_ can they leave her alone on a day like this?

Granger's eyes soften and she laughs drily, raising her arm and resting her hand on his cheek, stroking the skin there.

Draco's heart leaps in his throat. Her touch is warm, and her eyes are gentle, lips curved into a smile.

"I can try." she says, her voice a mere whisper.

And then her lips are on his and she's kissing him.

He freezes, and then his arms are wrapping around her, hands clutching onto her waist and running up her back. The blood is pounding in his ears, the ache rising as it uncoils from his chest and settles in his belly. He can feel her trembling, and he tightens his arms around her because he cannot let go now, and intensifies the kiss, drinking in her gasp and the taste of rain and hot chocolate swirling on her tongue.

He's wanted this…for so _long._ He can hear the loud thudding of his heart against his chest, that drunken haze clearing- all the confusion and sorrow wash away because the only thing he can really fell is the immense heat that is surrounding their bodies. He breaks away for a moment, his gaze lifting to hers. Her eyes are warm and dark- almost black against the night. He really wants to talk, but he _can't-_ his voice seems to falter and choke in his throat.

"I…" How long has it been since someone looked at him like this- like he was worth something? How long has it been since he last felt this _safe_? "Granger, I…"

She smells of fire and cinnamon and toffee and she is _smiling_ and Draco's heart couldn't possibly feel bigger-

"I haven't given you your pre-" she begins, but is cut off as he presses his palm against her back. She gasps, arching into him and he kisses her again. She kisses back, her hands coming up to hold the sides of his face. Her long fingers trace the angles of his jawline and down his neck and chest, as the trail of her fingertips burn, making him shiver and break the kiss, trying to catch his breath. He pulls her close and she slides her arms around his neck, lips parting to inhale as he buries his nose into the nape of her neck and peppers kisses down the side of her neck.

"Draco….your p-present.." she breathes, her face buried in his neck as she pulls him closer, fingers clenching into his hair.

He doesn't really know when her fingers had threaded through his hair, or when she had wrapped herself around him, but he thoroughly approves.

"I can think of a thing or two I would want to unwrap." he whispers. Her hands rap him gently on the head and he can't help but smirk. He can feel her lips smiling against his, and _oh Merlin,_ he hasn't felt this happy in his entire _life._

"Git. I meant the present I got for you."

He pulls back and looks into her eyes. They're twinkling, all traces of previous tears vanished.

Good. She doesn't deserve to cry on Christmas.

Or any other day.

Or ever. Not as long as he is around. And even afterwards.

He draws her in, capturing her lips in another toe-curling kiss.

"Later"- is all he says before pulling her back to his cottage.

.

.

.

The snow is falling and something feels different.

If Draco is to be completely honest, he wouldn't have been surprised to wake up to an empty bed. While he's not overtly familiar with one-off's; he does recognise the signs. Granger had been upset, and he had been slightly too aroused, both their inhibitions dimmed a bit by the alcohol.

He grins to himself, turning in bed and burying his noise into his pillow. His sheets smell of Granger.

 _Granger._

He shoots up.

Outside the snow is falling, feather light against his window and the breeze blows.

And Granger's not there.

His heart leaps into his throat, and he looks around.

It's when his eyes fall on the ground and he spots the socks littered all over the wooden floor that he relaxes. Mismatched, knitted rainbow socks are all over the place and really, Granger is the only one who can make her presence known this way.

"Granger?" he calls out.

He doesn't realise he's holding his breath until she replies "In here."

She's sitting on the couch in the small living room, fingers deftly working a pair of knitting needles. He resists the urge to rolls his eyes- but only because he's too busy noticing how she's clad in just a plain white shirt, and nothing else.

Hair untameable in the bottle cold morning, milky white thighs crossed underneath her, Granger looks soft and _so_ _beautiful_. Draco can see a hint of cleavage down the two first buttons that are undone.

He doesn't remember owning such a shirt- but it looks infinitely better on her anyway.

He walks over to her- feet padding softly on the rug- and even though it is freezing outside and he is almost naked, its warm inside thanks to the warming charms she's put. She raises her head and catches his eyes and smiles radiantly, and all he really wants to do is carry her back to bed and make her smile like this forever.

"Good morning."

Draco acts on impulse, falling onto the couch next to her and reaching out to grab her by the waist, nuzzling into the skin between her collarbones. He replies with a muffled, satisfied "G'morning."

She laughs "You look like you slept well. Oh, careful, you'll hurt yourself!"

He blinks and, at closer inspection, finds that she's holding a pair of knitting needles, and has been knitting something.

He arches a brow,"Knitting _again_?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She looks amused "Because I like to knit…?"

"I know that. But knitting at seven in the morning sounds…a bit out of order."

"Oh?"

"Yes." he responds firmly "At this time, one is meant to be in bed with a lover, wrapped up in their arms and comfortably asleep." He eyes the shirt she's wearing "Preferably without any clothes."

The eyebrow she's quirking at him is all-too knowing as her lips twitch. She hasn't bothered to tie her hair- not that he cares. He likes them like this.

"I wasn't aware it was an unspoken rule."

"It is." he replies, rolling onto his back and firmly placing his head on her lap. He still isn't wearing a shirt, but he notices Granger peeking at his chest and smirks inwardly. "What're you knitting this time?"

"It's a pair of socks." she smiles.

"First Amelia, then you. What is with you and knitting?"

"I'll have you know that knitted clothes are very cozy and warm."

"Yes, but I already have you for that."

She rolls her eyes "Maybe. That's why this is not for you."

"I'm hurt." he glances as she starts working again "Who is it for, then?"

"Winky." At the confused look he throws her, she adds "She's a house-elf."

He blinks "That raises more questions than it answers, Granger. Are you still on that freeing elf spew thing?"

"Its S.P.E.W! And no! Winky used to be a really good friend of Dobby's. He helped her out a lot when she was going through- um- a rough time. And Dobby loved getting new pairs of socks- preferably mismatched." her lips thin into a sad smile. Draco recalls Dobby as one of his former house-elves. "I used to knit socks for all the house-elves back in Hogwarts, but only Dobby accepted them."

Draco snorts "I wonder why."

She raps him softly "After Dobby's death, Winky was very distressed. She went back to drinking and sulking in a corner and refused to come out. I thought maybe this would help." Granger is looking at her needles, and for a minute there is complete silence between them.

Draco eyes the bright green sock that she has completed half-way. Granger seems to be only slightly better at knitting than Amelia, but something about the flimsy fabric in her hands makes him feel incredibly hollow and ashamed.

He's the reason- he had been there when his aunt had flung the dagger at Dobby.

He'd been there, watching as Granger had writhed and screamed, when her blood had trickled and pooled around her barely conscious body on the cold marble floor of the hall.

 _What had he done?_

True, his knuckles had been white from gripping his wand tightly, from restraint, because if he heard her scream one more time, he would've gone mad- he would've lashed out.- done _something-_ cursed Bellatrix and ensured all their deaths- and in the end, he'd done nothing- all this was _his_ fucking fault.

Draco doesn't feel warm anymore. His stomach lurches at how sickened he is with himself. He doesn't deserve her- he's been such a fool, so selfish, to continue being with her when he knew she deserved better. He _hates_ admitting it- _hates_ it beyond _anything_ \- especially the realisation that despite his tawdry personality, Ron Weasley is the one who's better. He had always been there for her. Always supportive, always caring. It had been Draco who had left her.

"Draco, I can hear you thinking." Granger's voice trails from his side lightly.

At a normal time, he would retort back with a sarcastic reply, but he doubts he can say anything right now without wanting to fall to his knees and take his head into his hands and apologise over and over again, because surprise, surprise, he feels guilty too. Even he has a heart.

"Draco? Are you alright? If you want, I'll make a pair of socks for you too." her eyes twinkled "You don't need to sulk."

He snorts, and that flooding warm feeling envelops him once again. He really doesn't deserve her- but he's too selfish and determined to let that make him walk away from her. He'll just have to work harder for her.

"I don't need socks. Especially ones that are mismatched."

"Oh! That reminds me!"

Granger leaps up and pads over the floor, aiming for something under the heavy Christmas tree she and Harold had dragged inside.

She appears from the tree; a large package in her hands, and beckons it to him.

"Merry Christmas."

He blinks and sits up, accepting it graciously, trying to guess the contents inside. Granger is squirming in front of him, biting her lip. He knows that she's not deliberately trying to look attractive, but she looks incredibly kissable when she does that.

He leans forward and fishes out a box form behind the couch, handing it to her "I believe this is for you."

"You….got me a present?"

"Obviously." he fights the urge to look sheepish "It's nothing too extravagant, but…" he clears his throat "…I thought you would appreciate it."

She casts him a bemused look and unties the ribbon, reaching for what's inside the present- a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_.

She blinks.

"That's….my favourite book. I didn't- I didn't think you'd know that." she looks amazed "Thank you, Draco."

He shakes his head. She doesn't even _know_. "I _didn't_ know it was your favourite book. It's-" he hesitates "-this is your copy of Pride and Prejudice. It's got your name on it. "

Granger freezes, and then fixes her eyes on him.

"What?" she whispers.

Draco shifts on his feet "The neighbours- they arranged the funeral of your parents. They- er- they gave me a bunch of items your parents wanted donated, in the case of their untimely death. But- they wanted to be buried with this. Apparently, they always felt like the book was special. It was your mother's favourite book to read." he runs his fingers through his hair sheepishly "It was only after you told me they were your parents that I opened it and saw your name on it." He watches as Granger gingerly opened the book, and ran nimble fingers over the neat handwriting that spelled out her name on the first page "I- erm...well, I'd been planning on burying it next to them rather than in the coffin, but then I thought gifting it to you would be better " his eyes survey her as she looks up at him, "You told me last night you didn't have anything to show you existed in their lives." he shrugs, smiling wryly "Turns out that my present kind of ended up helping you with that."

Draco hadn't pictured how Granger would react, but is saved an awkward silence as Granger crushes him into a hug. She is shaking, and holding onto him so tightly he can barely breathe, but it's okay.

His vision is obscured by bushy hair, but he can feel the heat emanating from her.

"You…confusing, amazing, _impossible_ person." she whispers, face buried in his neck "You're- I can't- _thank you._ Oh, thank you."

His eyes soften, an he allows himself a dry smile "Better not let Potter and Weasley hear you say that. They might have a heart attack." he pauses "On second thoughts, maybe we should let them hear that."

She raps him on the head, but she can her lips smile softly against the warm skin of his neck. She pulls back and raises her hand. A pair of keys are dangling from her fingers. The keys to his shed.

He abruptly draws back, checking his pockets, before realising he's in his boxers "My- how did you-"

Her eyes are twinkling "I've got very skilled hands."

"Oh, I know that."

It's her turn to blush as she huffs, rapping him on the head once again.

"They're for your Christmas gift."

He looks at her drily "Thanks, for giving me the keys to the shed I already own."

"Yes, but I put something _in_ that shed." she's smiling widely as Draco continues to stare at her. "Open your present!"

Blinking, he deftly tears the wrapping paper when his eyes fall on what's inside. He freezes, heart racing.

 _Quality Quidditch Supplies' Broomstick Servicing Kit._

"But….I don't have a…" his voice trails away.

He can't move, and he can't speak as he looks at Granger, who jingles the keys in her hands. She's smiling.

"Go unlock the shed, Draco."

.

.

.

Draco feels like a ten year old boy as he races across the snow. He had hurriedly thrown on a T-shirt and a dressing robe and tore through the graveyard, over to his shed, as Granger wore her clothes at a more moderate pace. He nows stands in front of the shed, unlocking the rickety old door with trembling fingers that have nothing to do with the cold weather.

And there it is.

The brand new Firebolt 360, polished wood practically shining in the light.

He can't breathe. The happiness- sheer ecstasy is threatening to burst out of his chest as he stands there, feeling like a child been given his favourite candy. And oh _Merlin,_ it's this woman right here- this woman, smiling breathlessly at the door, her hair wild and cheeks flushed- who has made it possible.

"Granger…" he looks on at her as she smiles.

"I thought…since you couldn't do magic, you'd appreciate a broom." she brushes snow off her shoulder "I take it you like it?"

 _Like_ it?

He fucking _loves_ it.

"It's…it's brilliant." he says, at a loss for words.

She nods "Try it, then."

He looks at the broom sitting there, then back at her. Merlin, he really feels like a child- full of doubt, aching for permission. "What if someone sees?"

Granger raises her wand "I can put a couple of disillusionment charms around. You should be fine." her eyes are bright "What do you say?"

He's forgotten how brilliant she is. And beautiful. And abso-fucking-lutely amazing.

"Only if you come along."- he finds himself saying.

Granger backs away, eyes widening. "Oh no, I brought this for _you_. I can use magic, I have no-"

"Oh please, Granger. Save the excuses."

"I'm serious! You can manage just fine without me!"

He knows that. He looks at her, eyes solemn.

He doesn't want to, though.

She's slowly walking backwards, eyes flitting towards Draco, and then the broom in uncertainty.

Ah. She's scared of heights.

He smirks, leaning against the wall "What's the matter? Too chicken to fly?"

Her expression hardens as they turn to him, and he almost cackles with glee. The best way to get a Gryffindor to do something they're scared to do- dare them.

"No." Granger scoffs "It's just a broomstick."

"Come fly with me then."

"I don't see the need to prove myself to you."

He shrugs "Chicken it is."

"I am _not_ scared!"

" _Nooooo_ , of course not." he runs his fingers down the smooth, polished wood as he lifts it up to inspect it carefully. "How can Hermione Granger- one-third of the famous Golden Trio, vanquisher of all evil, epitome of goodness- _possibly_ be terrified of something as mundane as _flying_?"

Her eyes narrow at him. He smiles back sweetly. When Granger marches over and snatches the broom from his hands, he grins to himself.

Oh yes, he knows Granger alright.

.

.

.

This is what freedom feels like.

This is happiness, this is un-inhibition.

The wind is whipping his hair back, the graveyard a mere blob of white below them, merged with the rest of the snow. He can hear nothing but the strong wind howling past him, he can see nothing but the clear clue sky, and the morning wind as it chills his already numbing fingers, but he's okay, because a pair of arms is tightly wrapped around his chest and a soft body is pressing deliciously hard into him from behind and he's never felt warmer.

He's tempted to raise both his arms to the sky, but the last time he tried it, Granger had shrieked into his ear and they had almost crashed into a thin trail of foliage below.

Since then, she had resorted to wrapping herself as tightly as she can around him- and he can't say he minds.

It's so exhilarating and exciting- the feeling of being so entirely _carefree_ and _happy_ that if he could, he would reach up and hug the clouds.

He can hear Granger's teeth chattering in his ear over the howling wind, clothes damp from the snow- and he wants to kiss her. He wants to dive in and swoop up and go round and round and up and down in circles and somersaults in the air. He wants to- he wants _so much_ …and it's so astounding that he still has the world at his feet. There is _so much_ to look for, so much to see- such a beautiful world, waiting for him out there.

What is he doing here- taking care of dead people, wanting and failing to make the difference he so desperately wants to make?

He's changed- he can be changed. He can make one as well.

With Granger- brilliant, beautiful Granger who sees so much more in him that he sees in himself- he thinks he can make a change, the kind that can clear his conscience. Maybe dampen the guilt that never really wore away by planting flowers on the graves of Muggles who died because of Voldemort.

He wants to laugh, and so he does, and once he can, he can't stop. It's so liberating- the sky and the snow and the cold, cold weather, and Granger's arms around him as she yells something he can't really hear….

…And he thinks he's finally ready for the New Year.

.

.

.

 _The clouds hold a storm over this road_

 _You're dreaming, or at least you've got your eyes closed_

 _And this dormant love you've built, inside your stubborn ways_

 _It's begging now for air, of the silent breath of change_

 _._

 _._

 _._

* * *

 **A/N: This ended up being update waaaaay later than I promised….so yeah….**

 **Well anyway, hope you liked! Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and I love all types of messages!**

 **Please check my other fics out, and leave a review, it would mean so much!**

 **Hope y'all had a good day :)**

 **Much love,**

 **~SS~**


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